17/01: Milestone/Testosterone
Category: Skiing/Boarding
Posted by: ajmilne
So I finally got ‘round to trying a new position in my bindings. Set the front one to six degrees—mirroring the back, which is at minus six. The notion is this should make switch easier…
And it certainly seems to do so. Yestereve’s milestone: I rode all the way down a blue, switch all the way.
I was able to repeat this performance several times—and awkwardly in places, sure—but it’s funny—sometimes the temptation to turn around and do it the easy way is just incredible. It’s like that left foot is always saying: ‘Oh c’mon… let me lead… You know I’m better at it.’
There are two situations in which this temptation is particularly compelling. One is obvious—on a steeper or generally more difficult pitch, naturally enough…
The other is, I guess, not so surprising either. But amusing in its way…
‘Cos man, I do so want to turn around and just go flashing past riding the easy way whenever there’s someone a) female and b) attractive anywhere in sight…
It’s funny, I guess. I mean, yeah, I’m 40, and yeah, I’m married, but that intense desire to look like I may actually know what I’m doing in the presence of a pretty woman, apparently, that never quite leaves you. It’s like it’s primal, or some damned thing…
It makes me a little more sympathetic, I guess, to a certain subclass of skiier/rider that does, in honesty, get on my nerves, from time to time…
As in: man, sometimes I’ll get on the lift next to or just too close to a coupla youngish bearers of Y chromosomes, and it’s like there’s this cloud of testosterone around ‘em that’s so thick you could swear you can smell the stuff. There will emanate from their vicinity all manner of hypercompetitive weirdness—and everything’s all about how incredible they are about everthing they do, how so-and-so who’s not currently present just totally sucks compared with them, and about who they’re ‘nailing’ or who they would like to ‘nail’, who they’re damn sure they’re gonna ‘nail’…
Oh, and pro tip: hypercompetitive young bearers of Y chromosomes do not ‘have sex’, do not even ‘fuck’, and they sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead ‘making love’… They ‘nail’… Or, apparently ‘do’ whomever is being ‘done’… Presumably their sexual partners… Tho’ honestly, I guess I’m just assuming that, technically…
And, in fairness, I guess it’s probably partly the territory. Adrenaline sports, I’d expect they do sorta invite that sorta thing…
And anyway, like I said: given the revealed reality that male vanity is apparently pretty much a puberty-to-grave thing, for me at least, I guess I can resist the temptation to push some of ‘em off the lift for a few more nights at least anyway.
And it certainly seems to do so. Yestereve’s milestone: I rode all the way down a blue, switch all the way.
I was able to repeat this performance several times—and awkwardly in places, sure—but it’s funny—sometimes the temptation to turn around and do it the easy way is just incredible. It’s like that left foot is always saying: ‘Oh c’mon… let me lead… You know I’m better at it.’
There are two situations in which this temptation is particularly compelling. One is obvious—on a steeper or generally more difficult pitch, naturally enough…
The other is, I guess, not so surprising either. But amusing in its way…
‘Cos man, I do so want to turn around and just go flashing past riding the easy way whenever there’s someone a) female and b) attractive anywhere in sight…
It’s funny, I guess. I mean, yeah, I’m 40, and yeah, I’m married, but that intense desire to look like I may actually know what I’m doing in the presence of a pretty woman, apparently, that never quite leaves you. It’s like it’s primal, or some damned thing…
It makes me a little more sympathetic, I guess, to a certain subclass of skiier/rider that does, in honesty, get on my nerves, from time to time…
As in: man, sometimes I’ll get on the lift next to or just too close to a coupla youngish bearers of Y chromosomes, and it’s like there’s this cloud of testosterone around ‘em that’s so thick you could swear you can smell the stuff. There will emanate from their vicinity all manner of hypercompetitive weirdness—and everything’s all about how incredible they are about everthing they do, how so-and-so who’s not currently present just totally sucks compared with them, and about who they’re ‘nailing’ or who they would like to ‘nail’, who they’re damn sure they’re gonna ‘nail’…
Oh, and pro tip: hypercompetitive young bearers of Y chromosomes do not ‘have sex’, do not even ‘fuck’, and they sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead ‘making love’… They ‘nail’… Or, apparently ‘do’ whomever is being ‘done’… Presumably their sexual partners… Tho’ honestly, I guess I’m just assuming that, technically…
And, in fairness, I guess it’s probably partly the territory. Adrenaline sports, I’d expect they do sorta invite that sorta thing…
And anyway, like I said: given the revealed reality that male vanity is apparently pretty much a puberty-to-grave thing, for me at least, I guess I can resist the temptation to push some of ‘em off the lift for a few more nights at least anyway.
Scott Garten wrote: